The Notebook
by Mr. Ree and Mr. Meenor
Summary: She thought she had her life figured out. She knew what she was going to become, what was expected of her. Leaving everything she worked for all behind and trying to solve a mystery wasn't it.  AU
1. That Girl, Blank

Mr. Ree here, and, upon recent events, have a story to tell. It's dedicated to you, high schoolers and college kids with no idea what to do next.

Disclaimer: D. Gray-Man is the property of Katsura Hoshino and Funimation. This series is a parody and nothing more, so please support the official release. Got it? Damn well better.

~X~

1. That Girl, Blank

After getting a bagel from one of her favorite shops, a bicycle collided into her, sending the bagel into the mud. She crumpled into a pile, side aching, eyebrows furrowed as pain surged from her abdomen and into her lower back. Her arm, outstretched in front of her, struggled to assist her in sitting up. From the corner of her eye, she saw the bike tire spun in lazy circles. It slowed to a stop before she managed to wobble on her own two feet. Mud covered her jacket, her favorite one her older brother bought for her on her eighteenth birthday. Mouth open, a nasty comment started to come out, but upon seeing the stranger collapsed a few feet ahead of the bike, the comment died in her throat.

"Are you okay?" came out instead.

He groaned. A backpack with spilled contents—clothes, what appeared to be a wallet, an empty water bottle—covered the red-bricked sidewalk beside him. Part of his old jeans tore off, as did some flesh off his shin. "Fine," he croaked as he sat up. Face scuffed and eye (only one?) weary, he glanced at her with a sheepish grin. "Sorry 'bout that," he said, "wasn't expecting anyone to come out of the cafe so quickly. Are _you_ okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, ignoring the throb in her side. She cradled her arm less suspiciously before extending the uninjured one out. "Do you need help?"

"Nah, I got it." He grinned again before picking up his backpack and shoving his contents in quickly. By the looks of it, he had all of his possessions on him, meaning one thing—he was homeless. "Look out for cyclist-psychos with no depth-perception, okay? 'Cause they ain't me with the training of having one eye." He tightened the orange scarf around his neck before pedaling off again, winding his way around the corner before disappearing behind a building. She stared after him for a while longer, wondering who he was, then shook her head. So much for a simple snack time. The bagel looked soggy in the mud.

Still, part of her mind wondered if it would still be good to eat. She giggled a little at the thought before starting to walk. The pain in her side nearly subsided, and she would've completely forgotten about the boy with the bicycle if it wasn't for what her foot kicked up.

A notebook, covered in leather and mud, skidded a few inches in front of her, catching her attention. She tilted her head, realizing the boy must have missed picking it up, then, after a moment's hesitation, bent down and lifted it up from the edge of a puddle. Old binding kept the pages from flying open in the wind. In barely-legible ink, a title sprawled out on the cover:

_Bookman Junior's Property (DO NOT TOUCH!)_

Well, not a title, then. She pocketed the notebook and told herself she would give it back to the boy tomorrow, if he happened to cycle by the next day. And if not, she would find someone who knew any Bookman Junior's. Nodding to herself, she started down the sidewalk, feeling better, and thoughts preoccupied with the idea of graduating high school within a week.

~X~

Top of her class (aside from another student, the studious Allen Walker) and full of potential, Lenalee Lee already knew what she wanted to do with herself. She studied advanced placement classes in biology and took several courses in anatomy. She took computer courses ahead of time, starting in March, to get a feel for what it was like in the medical field. With a proud GPA of 3.9, she obtained several scholarships to the perfect colleges that excelled in the medical field. They sent her letters, almost begging for her to join their curriculum. Since her brother was also interested in science and medicine, it wasn't too shocking for her or any of her friends that she wanted to become a brain surgeon, or something of the like.

"I'm home!"

Komui, her brother, looked up from looking over notes and smiled. "Welcome home, Lena . . . lee?" He looked her up and down. "You're covered in mud! What happened?"

"I tripped." She didn't want her brother to worry too much about her. She smiled when he looked at her suspiciously. "No, really, it's fine. I hurt my arm a little, but other than that, I'm fine. How was work today? Did Reever chew you out for being lazy again?" The more she distracted him, the better—but he still looked suspicious. Clearing his throat, he put the papers down.

"No, he was too busy with Johnny, who keeps getting sick."

"Ah." She took off her jacket and threw it into the washing machine. "I'm going upstairs to finish my project. Call me if you need anything. Oh, and the meat in the fridge is getting old—you should probably take that to work with you, okay?"

He nodded. She smiled one more time before kicking off her shoes and heading up the stairs. The light overhead didn't work, so she didn't bother attempting to turn it on. Night crept up quickly on the twilight, baring its starlit fangs and chewing it to pieces with its sharpest incisor, the moon. She opened her door to her room and closed it with a sigh. Of course, she lied about the project, too; she finished it two weeks prior, and it surprised her that her brother didn't pick up on that. Maybe he was letting her slip little white lies in. He trusted her, after all.

She placed the book onto her desk, where colorful pencils stood tall in the metal tin can she found, and where her calculator awaited to do complicated equations of the statistics variety. She rummaged through her bag, picking up her math book and letting it thud onto the desk. Curiosity urged her to take a look inside the book, but the stranger clearly wanted it to be private. What did she expect to see in it, anyways? A bomb plot? A map to an imaginary land? She shook her head and picked up a pencil with a smiley-face eraser. Statistics took priority over foolishness—she couldn't afford to get lazy in the last stretch of school.

Maybe it had a story? She scribbled down the median of the number of rodents dying after smoking _x_ amount of cigarettes. An unfinished story, waiting to be published? A homeless man with the most brilliant plot, clinging onto that notebook like it was the last thing to give him hope, and she had the nerve to take it with her. She glanced at the notebook nervously. The black ink read the same as before, though it seemed more faded than before under the lamp's light.

"Focus," she muttered under her breath, then resumed describing the five-number summary for the rodents who died from smoking _x_ cigarettes. Her pencil lead snapped half-way through her synopsis, making her rummage through one of the drawers for a sharpener. It slipped out of her fingers and clattered against the floor. Groaning, she rose from her chair and slammed her knee underneath the desk, making the tin full of pencils fall and roll on its side. The notebook also fell, covers spread wide and pages bending in contorted shapes.

"Crap." She never said such words around her friends. In fact, it startled her to say anything like that, and profanities were certainly out of the question. Knee throbbing, she picked up the sharpener first, then the tin of pencils, and, hesitating, reached down and picked up the notebook. She hoped to have closed it before catching glimpses of anything—her curiosity badgered her enough as is—but couldn't help but see a portion of a picture.

A sketchbook?

Pushing aside her statistics book, she fingered through the leather cover and turned to the first page. In bold cursive, it read, _Vol. III._ Underneath that, another string of letters read, _Lavi Bookman, Jr._ And beneath that, _(No, my father wasn't named "Lavi", but I am an apprentice of Bookman, so I go by Junior—ah, who the hell are you trying to explain this to? Yourself? Idiot.)_

She turned another page.

_Day: February 17th _

_Weather: Sunny and humid. So not used to this._

_So starts my third volume of whatever this constitutes to be. It's difficult to get anywhere it seems, what with being unable to use the highway. One, I still have no money. Two, they don't permit bicycles on the highway (wonder why—couldn't have to deal with that drivers are assholes and will hit you, but hey). I am still in Alabama. This place is as depressing as its name. When I biked by, I saw all of three houses in this small town, and maybe a person. Oh, and a lonely gas station with nobody in it. Hello, northerner, welcome to the South. _

_It doesn't help that it's nearly eighty and humid here. Isn't it February? Where's the snow? Where's those patches of black ice that threaten to send me flying over my handlebars? No where, apparently. _

_Fields. I noticed that, too. They extend for what seems to be miles. Mostly grain, too, and some cotton here and there. It's kind of invigorating to see some green in the deadest of months. Lots of machinery, too, and farmhouses, really old farmhouses—maybe abandoned? Well, one is. I know that for a fact._

_I'm staying the night in Alabama with a woman named Lois. She's loud and knows what needs to get done, and actually made me cook dinner. I haven't cooked in the longest time (because, you know, no food), but apparently it was a success. She asked me to stay longer with her and her husband (who apparently is working on another farm) for the time being, since I have no place to go. I told her I couldn't. It makes me sad that I can't tell her why._

_Lois runs the farm, too. Her family used to be slaves there, but the "white people" family left several years ago to someplace else (she didn't like them, indicated by her tone), leaving it up for sale. So she bought it, and renovated it some. There's a library past the old fireplace, and when I haven't been helping around the house, I've been sneaking peaks at books. She caught me there and almost yelled at me for slacking when she noticed I was reading history._

"_You like history, boy?" It's refreshing to be treated like a five-year-old, to be honest—compared to the others, Lois is the nicest to me. I nodded._

"_Let me show you something, then."_

_Past the farmhouse (hidden for some reason) is an old "slave-shack." She showed me where her ancestors lived and how they worked for the "white people" slave-drivers. One her relatives, whose name got lost in the records, could read and write—which was amazing, I tell you. The woman even had a diary, one that the wife of a slave-driver gave her. Lois gave me the book to look through, and, given the woman's circumstances, it is wonderful. Details of day-to-day life, some practices in writing words (using repetitions), and even poetry._

"_We've been safekeeping it for years. It's how we know who we are. It's how we know this is where my ancestors lived. Don't be stealing it now! I will beat you to death."_

_I told her I wouldn't. And I won't (I only stole a few pens I found laying around). After all, she fed me and even let me use her shower. That's a plus. I even get my own corner in the small library she has with pillows AND a blanket. I must've hit the jackpot today. _

_Getting late. Will write more tomorrow, as always._

_~Lavi_

Beneath the segment of writing was a sketch of the "slave-shack" Lavi described. Pencil shades depicted shadows as rusted chains laid scattered in corners. Lenalee shuddered and pushed the notebook aside, feeling a chill rise up her spine. Sad things made her flinch away and made her want to talk to her brother. He always took care of her and made her feel better. She wanted to forget she even read it, especially since she did it without permission.

But one thing caught her attention within the passage. It was so small, she almost didn't notice it at first, but in the middle, the line, "It makes me sad that I can't tell her why", made her reread it. He never explained what that reason was for him leaving so soon. She frowned. Maybe she would never see him again, then, if he upped and left like that all the time. In that case, she had to burn the book or throw it out.

"Lenalee, dinner's ready!"

"Coming!"

She closed the notebook, turned off her lamp, and descended the stairs. She would worry about it later.

~X~

"I can't believe it," Allen said as the bell rang. "One more day."

She smiled at him. The week seemed to vanish within the blink of an eye. Finals were over, and tomorrow it was graduation. "How do you think you did, Allen? On the final, I mean. I think that last question was difficult."

"Really? I thought the second-to-last one was awful." He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out two lunchboxes. "I need a snack. That test really drained me of all my energy. What're you doing tonight, Lenalee? Are you working at the convenience store, and if not, are you free at seven tonight?" He had an odd sparkle in his eyes, which made her giggle. "Please say you're free!" he continued. "I wanted to invite you to my graduation party. Idiot-Kanda is coming, even, because I threatened that you'd cry if he didn't come."

"Jeez, way to use me, Allen." She hoisted her bag over her shoulder. "I'll be there, don't worry. I took the next three days off for the recovery period after graduation." She took a bite out of one of his doughnuts and winked. "Gotta go!"

He waved as she exited the classroom, pushing her way by the hordes of students chattering excitably about summer vacation. Seniors hugged classmates goodbye and emptied their lockers of any remaining binders and old soda cans they had locked away for four years. Janitors looked displeased from cleaning all the notepaper off the floor. She put in her headphones and clicked on her iPod to start playing. Kanda waved at her as he ascended the stairwell, and she waved back before he disappeared around the corner.

Rock-n'-roll to leaving the school, then a piano piece for down the sidewalk. She looked over her shoulder to see students mingling about, laughing and grinning. She then turned her attention to her backpack, which had one pocket open. The book's leather binding didn't glint off the sun, but it still transfixed her for a moment. She pulled it out, zipped the bag's pocket closed, and flipped to the page where she was last:

_Day: May 22nd _

_Weather: Rain. Lots of it. Where are the stupid flowers April was supposed to bring?_

_My clothes are soaked. Literally soaked. I had to wring out my favorite sweatshirt several times during the course of today. Biking with thirty extra pounds clinging to you is not my definition of fun. And the trees here, they still haven't completely bloomed their leaves yet. I know this is practically a boreal ecosystem, but at some point, the stupid trees here should at least have an inkling of green on them, right? No, of course not, 'cause it's not my lucky day today._

_Well, that's not true. I did manage to scrape together five dollars from bottle collecting today. This state is one of the few that gives you five cents for returning plastic and glass bottles. It isn't Michigan's ten, like I hoped, but I suppose it'll have to do. The guy at the redemption center looked at me funny when I came in, probably because I was dripping puddles all over his floor. When he handed me the five dollars (counting those things was seriously time-consuming), he asked, "The hell are you doing, being outside in the middle of this storm?" And I only smiled at him. The farther away I get from them, from there, the better, but I didn't tell him that._

_I wonder where they are? Are they still trying to hunt me down, gun me down, bleed me to death, and dispose of the body? Or did they forget I exist? I highly doubt that; I did, after all, ruin something incredibly important to them. Breaking the code, as they said, was punishable by death. But isn't constantly being on the run punishment enough? I haven't had an actual shower in two weeks, not a real meal in three, and my sleep schedule no longer exists. I can't recall the last time I slept more than three hours a night, not disturbed by any nightlife (especially mosquitoes, those pesky bastards). And since I will probably die of homelessness by the time I'm twenty-five, they don't need to keep chasing me down. Right?_

_Wrong. I saw one of them a week ago, but he didn't see me. He stood near the coffee shop I wanted to go to, making the local girls (and some guys) swoon over him. I seriously hope he didn't pick up on my trail and follow me here. Nothing is here, anyways—the whole freakin' state only has a population of 1.7 million, and they are all down south. No, I'm farther north, hoping to throw them off when I go east tomorrow and south from there. The downside is, no one here seems to offer charity to a hopeless loser like me. Hell, even New York, a.k.a. The Capital of the World, had some nice people, but here? Not a single person that I've met today._

_That's why I'm sitting under this pine tree for the evening, writing by the light from the streetlamp. If I'm not careful, the pages will get wet. And I don't want that to happen. I keep deflecting rain drops with my back, it seems. It's so cold . . . I wish I didn't have to avoid the homeless shelters, because that's where they will expect me to be._

_And they'll wait. Wait until I sleep. Until the world I know disappears into a nightmare, with them surrounding me, beating me, feasting on my blood, pulling my dead body apart limb from limb and tossing the remains to hungry, homeless dogs—_

She slipped—an uncommon characteristic about her—and fell forward. The book flew from her hands and landed in front of a pair of feet. The pair stopped, and a hand, half-gloved, reached down and picked it up. She scrambled to her feet. "I'm fine, and can I have that back?" she said quickly, wanting to get lost within Lavi's writing once again. His story captivated her the past week, and when she wasn't studying for finals, she was fingering through the pages, devouring each sentence with her eyes and digesting it with her brain.

And she gasped.

"This is mine, isn't it?" the stranger said. He flipped through the pages and grinned. "Lucky me. I was wondering where it went, so I stayed here for a week. Wait a sec . . ." He inspected her with his eye for a moment before snapping his fingers. "I know you! You're the girl I ran into with my bike last week or so, right? My book fell out then, didn't it? Thanks for holding onto it. I thought whoever found it would throw it away."

The same red hair, the green eye, the stranger who wasn't as much of a stranger as she initially thought, and the same grin, held the journal he kept. "Ah . . . yeah," she mumbled, disappointed she ran into him again. Clearly, he wanted it back, and she only got to the middle, and that was the third book. She wanted all of it, but she knew he wouldn't give the remaining books to her. "I didn't know what to do, so I kept it," she said louder. "Sorry for that. I'll get going now."

She turned, intending to get out of there before the need to read the rest of his journal overwhelmed her. The thought of begging to read his _journal_, of all things, disgusted her. She never should have started reading it in the first place. It said not to touch, and she broke his privacy with a few flips of pages.

"Hey, hold on a second. Were you reading this?"

Her foot stopped mid-step. Of course he would ask. Swallowing, she turned back to him and gave a shallow nod. "Only a page, though!" she added frantically. "I was curious, so I decided to take a peek, nothing more!" Lying wasn't her strongest suit. She could do little white lies easily, but to lie about reading someone's diary? Her voice sounded oddly squeaky. She felt her face flush as he flipped through the pages.

"Only a page, huh?" He pointed to a page. Old spaghetti sauce she spilled on her desk stained the bottom right-hand corner. "I'd say you read a little more than that." His grin faded into a serious look, with his eyebrows furrowed and his eye narrowing. "Just how far did you get?"

"I, uh, I . . ." She stepped back. His aura radiated hate, and maybe something else. Knees shaking, she bowed her head. "I'm sorry! Please don't be upset! I won't read it ever again, promise!"

A pause. Then Lavi started laughing. She looked up to see him clutching his side and leaning against a building for support. His chuckling didn't subside for another moment as she stood there, flabbergasted. "Oh, man!" he said through small chortles. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to terrify you like that, and then you went all-out with your apology. Heh heh . . . oh, jeez, my stomach hurts. I'm not actually upset with you." He grinned sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his head. "It's just, no one has ever read anything I wrote before, and I get a little self-conscious even thinking about someone reading it."

"Oh." It was the only thing she could say. Her eyes landed on the notebook again.

"Do you wanna keep reading it, then?"

"Hunh?"

He rolled his eye. "I said, did you wanna keep reading it? I have a few others, in case you're interested. I don't exactly . . ." He fumbled for words, then gave another sheepish grin. "I no longer need them," he finished.

She didn't inquire why, but she wanted to know. He rummaged through his old bag, which had numerous holes in it, and handed her three other notebooks. "They're all labeled, too," he said as he slung his bag over his shoulder. "One through four, you have them all. Hold onto them for me, will you? I don't have . . ." Another fumble. "I don't know where to keep them with my, uh, current situation. But don't be concerned with that!" He waved his hands theatrically. "Anyways, I hope you enjoy them, uh . . . ?"

"Lenalee," she said. "Lenalee Lee."

"Lenalee," he repeated with a grin. "Take good care of them, now. They're the only copies, period."

With that, he started to walk away. She looked down at the books in her hands, then back at him as he started to disappear around the corner. "Wait!" she cried, "what if I want to talk to you again about anything that confuses me? Or anything at all, for that matter?"

He turned and grinned while walking backwards. "You'll find me in the park near that bagel shop, always. You could say it's where I live."

And he disappeared. Her gaze returned to the books, which begged for her attention. She shoved them into her bag before she took off in a sprint back home.

~X~

_So begins the first day._

The phone rang. She jumped, the notebook nearly flying into the air, but she composed herself before she could do any damage. Yawning, she wandered into the kitchen, where the phone sat, blaring its annoying cry for any form of attention. Komui wasn't around to answer it for her—he was pulling another all-nighter at his lab. She picked it up, recognized the number, then answered it with a smile. "Hello, Allen."

"Hey!" He sounded happy, as always. "Do you want to come over a little early? I need some advice on how to bake this cake, and since you like chocolate cake, I figured you'd know how to cook it better than me."

She walked back into the living room and plopped herself back onto the couch. The book rested on her knees as she yawned again. "Sure, Allen," she said, slightly irritated she lost her spot. "What time did you want me over? I can get there as early as five, if I take the bus."

"Five sounds good. And, uh, Lenalee?"

"Yeah?"

A pause. "Not right now," he said. "I'll tell you when you come over."

"All right, Allen. I'll see you then."

"Okay."

She hung up the phone and glanced at the clock. If she wanted to make it by five, she would have to walk to the bus station now. She shoved on her boots and turned off the lamp in the living room before heading towards the door. The book sat there, opened on the first page. She only got a quick glance before stepping out into the setting sun, heading towards Allen's house:

_So begins the first day._

_The day I am no longer bound by convention._

_The day I can finally become who I am: me._

~X~

Chapter one, done! Did you like it? Hate it? Love it? Destroy it? Hit me with a review, por favor! And I shall see you in chapter two! ~Mr. Ree


	2. That Girl, Indecision

Heyo! It's an update! Huzzah! And my head is spinning! Not huzzah! But I brought upon you this chapter. Thank you for those who reviewed: Hikou no Kokoro, CallMeLove, Pearl of the Orient Seas, Unknown person, and DeathBerry. Sorry to be horrible with returning your reviews. I assure you, I will try next time. And so, without further ado . . .!

Disclaimer: Been there done that.

~X~

2. That Girl, Indecision

_Day: June 10th _

_Weather: Wonderful. Perfect. Can I have more of this?_

_Today I wound up in a really, really small town. Population: maybe fifty? It's a huge farming area, with crops and cows and horses and chickens everywhere. I even saw a real, living turkey today—the first time I ever saw a living, real turkey in my life. I didn't think turkeys got so huge. It almost broke my bike in several pieces, if it wasn't for me swerving out of the way at the last second and crashing into the asphalt. Only my knee ended up skinned, yippee. One more tear in my jeans._

_The speed-limit here is around sixty-five miles and hour. Less people there are, less likely of an accident. I don't think I've seen a car drive through here, like, at all. There are no businesses, no gas stations, nothing—just farmland. It's amazing, especially at the top of the largest hill here, to see all the greens and gold. I can't do it justice by describing it with low-life adjectives. I guess this is what it means to be in awe, then. Maybe sublime is a better term? Either way, with no overly-large buildings, or anything super-obstructing, it looks like this place hasn't been touched by any human hands. It's as if I'm the only one who ever came this way._

_Except for the locals, of course. They were surprised to see me as I was to see them. An old man sat on his porch, knitting while rocking in his chair, and nearly had a heart attack upon seeing me. Unlike everyone else in the town, he didn't own a farm. He decided to live here after he retired, apparently. Anyways, he shouted at me, told me to "get on over here!" When I got on over there, he slapped me on the back and laughed._

"_I haven't seen anyone else around here 'cept those damn farmers for ages! I was goin' crazy over here, 'specially since my wife left me to diabetes. Come in, son, have a drink."_

_I have a rule: I don't drink. Drinking means getting a hangover (that is, if you remain dehydrated and don't drink water while chugging three or four beers). And getting a hangover impairs my ability to bike. So I asked for water instead, and he said, "Water? Ah, son, try some of this, just one sip ain't gonna hurt ya."_

_So, upon tasting alcohol for the first time in a long time, I leave you this word of wisdom: really old wine is the most delicious thing you can ever do with grapes. I must've helped myself to a drink too many, because he made me stop after a while. Then he gave me water. I still have a slight headache from yesterday, but I'm fine now. The old man makes knitted scarves and hats. He also sews and embroiders, which completely goes against the stereotype that only girls do that. Kind of elating, really. He sewed me a new pair of jeans and this really nice, green shirt I'm wearing, and it was free, though I did have to help him clean his gutters and yadda yadda. _

"_What're you doing in the middle of nowhere, son?"_

_I told him I was traveling, which isn't a lie. He only nodded knowingly. _

"_At your age, I wanted to see the world, too. But that was at a time without technology. Back then, you didn't get distracted with this newfangled thing called the 'Internet.' I traveled to Mexico once, back in the seventies, and I tell you what, it was one of the best things I ever did. I saw people who worked hard for nothin', but still seemed happy with what they had. It taught me that less it more." He took a swig of wine before grinning at me. "And then you come along, and it brings me back to that philosophy. Kids these days, they are so involved with themselves that they don't see the bigger picture._

"_Promise me something, son—never stop seeing the world with that eye of yours, because once you get distracted by falsehoods, there ain't no comin' back."_

~X~

Allen owned a house by himself, that much Lenalee knew. Just how large that house was baffled her when she approached the iron gates. She stood on the side where a little speaker was and waited. A camera moved and twitched before its lens landed on her. Then the speaker said with a crackly snarl, "Miss Lenalee, I presume? Master Walker is awaiting you inside. Please, come in."

_Master_ Walker? The iron gates opened, leaving a trail of a decorated cement walkway. Flowers spurted up from the ground, waving colorful hues of red and orange as she walked by. A maid awaited her arrival at the front doors. She smiled graciously as Lenalee approached, then bowed as the girl hesitated to go inside. "He is in the kitchen, Miss Lee," she said. "Allow me to lead you the way. Many a visitor gets lost within these walls." With that, the maid shoved one of the double doors open and led her into the main room.

A Persian-decorated rug covered the floor. Lights hung high with little crystals dangling beside them, glittering colors onto the walls. Two spiraling staircases led up to a visible second floor, leading to two conjoining halls. Paintings hung near the side tables, depicting a middle-aged man in some, Allen and the same man in others, and something that looked to be a circus. A large poster proclaiming the spectacular show shined as the center piece, symmetrically aligned between the two spiral staircases. The maid waved her hand. "This way, Miss Lee," she said. "Best not to dawdle here long; too many distractions at once for newcomers."

Down the corridor and up a set of stairs, she found herself staying on what she could best define as a sky-way. Glass made up the walls as the hall hovered at least fifteen feet above the ground. It overlooked a large garden, attended to by many gardeners. Another house past the garden rested in the background, looking almost as large as the one she was in. The glass disappeared a moment later, replaced with the smell of chocolate and the distinct aroma of ginger. The maid bowed. "I leave you in my master's care," she said before disappearing down the glass hall.

"Ah, Lenalee!"

Her daze broke and refocused on the boy rushing over to her. He looked so ordinary compared to the rest of the house that it seemed like he never belonged there in the first place. Still, the sight of seeing familiar silver-hair and the blue-gray eyes that welcomed her warmly gave her a sense of ease within the mansion. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. "You're right on time!" he said. "I hope you didn't get lost."

"No, the bus driver seemed to know exactly where to go after I gave him the address." Which didn't surprise her, now that she thought about it; the house was probably the largest one in town. "Allen, your face is covered in chocolate."

"It is?" He rubbed at his lips before laughing. "Oh well. It's not like I intended to stay mostly clean while cooking. You think this is bad? You should see me when I eat—I'm like a pig."

"I have seen you. And yes," she said with a small laugh, "you do eat like a pig."

He feigned a hurt expression. "You wound me. The kitchen's over this way."

Many tables made up the dining area (the thought alone of having a separate area to eat and cook astonished her). Plates sat in an orderly fashion as napkins, folded in a pristine way, rested beside them. She looked around the room in awe. "Is this all for your party?" she asked a moment later.

He nodded. "Of course, of course. I had the servants arrange it so that it's more open around here—what do you think?" He waved his hand towards the room. "They are so kind to me, the servants. They used to be my foster father's attendants, and some even worked with him in the circus he owned. When he died, I inherited everything—the circus, his home, his fortune . . ." Allen sighed, a tint of sadness cloaked with a nervous laugh. "It's not worth it," he said after a pause. "I would rather have Mana alive than to be the owner of everything he, not I, worked for."

"Allen . . ."

He gave her a weary smile. "It's all right. I can't change what happened to him. Nobody could. Ah, here we are!" He opened the door to the kitchen. Servants mingled with one another, pouring sauces and adding vegetables to various dishes. "This here is the kitchen. I made it so that we get our own work space to ourselves."

"Whoa." She couldn't suppress her surprise any longer. All the servants, she realized, were making food for the party later that evening. "Just how many people did you invite, Allen?"

"A lot. But a quarter of this is for me. Sadly, I give my attendants such a hard time because of my incredibly fast metabolism." He approached an untouched oven, glistening after being recently polished. A few pans and several ingredients sat on the counter beside it, waiting to be mixed together to create the ultimate chocolate cake. He rolled up his sleeves. "We're making several layers. Since I have no idea how to do that, can you help me?"

She nodded. Why else did she come over early? "I've made layered cake before for my brother on his birthday. It's actually easier than you think it to be."

"Really? Great! Actually, if we have extra time, I wanted to show you around the mansion a little bit. It's really impressive. Did you know that my foster father built it?"

"He did?"

"Yeah! He started it about twenty years ago, after his circus show became incredibly popular . . ."

~X~

_Ding!_

Allen, hands coated in cake batter, excitedly went over to the oven. Lenalee retrieved some oven mitts from one of the servants. The last layer to a many-layered cake. She carefully pulled the top out, then, after plopping it on top of the massive cake, coated it with more chocolate frosting. Allen assisted her the best he could, smoothing the rough edges of the cake out. With a few more strokes of a knife, the layered cake, its frosting, and its appealing white-flower décor attracted the stomachs of even dust bunnies.

"Wow," Allen breathed as he gazed upon the cake. His eyes sparkled as he ran his tongue over his lips. "It's amazing. Can I have a piece now?"

Lenalee laughed. "No, of course not! You have to share it for the party, remember? Which reminds me," she said as she glanced at the clock, "the other guests will arrive soon. Shouldn't we go back to the, uh, main room and greet them properly?"

"Not to worry! There are numerous servants running about, preparing for their arrival." He outstretched his hand. "So, with some time left, do you want to look around?"

She couldn't tell if he was blushing, but color tinted his cheeks more than usual. His gloved hand shook a little at the invitation for her to take it. It was cute, the way he acted embarrassed around girls. Nodding, she gladly accepted his hand and smiled. "Sure," she said. The tint grew darker.

Numerous halls and bedrooms made up the majority of the mansion. Some rooms held old circus tents, others possessed fancy furniture that nobody had used in the longest of whiles. He told her of when the circus members used to sleep in the now-empty guest rooms. Mattresses sat still on their bed frames, and the sheets looked fresh, as if someone came into each room just to clean the unused space. Allen proceeded down another hall, not ceasing to look out the wide windows that surrounded them. She stopped for a moment, glancing outside. She saw the fronts gates, where vehicles began parking close-by. Soon, the house would be filled with old friends.

"And this room," Allen said, interrupting her thoughts, "is the master bedroom."

The door swung open almost too dramatically. Dark gray walls held up many circus, and perhaps magician, props—a whip, hoops, posters, tickets, clown costumes . . . She spotted a scythe in the corner, and a multicolored ball in another. A desk gathering cobwebs held books, one of which was open in the middle. A red bookmark kept his spot. The bed itself appealed to her, with numerous comforters to snuggle with. Once, when she was little, she would pretend that the blankets were an entirely different person who held her close.

By then, she outgrew those childish antics. Mostly.

Allen plopped himself onto the bed. "Aah," he said with a content sigh, spreading himself out onto the mattress, "I'm ready for a nap right about now. Cooking makes me tired." He looked through his bangs at Lenalee and sat up again. "Do you not like it?"

"No, no!" She gave a reassuring smile. "It's just, it's really different. It has character."

"That's what I thought." He rose to his feet and pushed his gloved hand against the window. "My, lots of people are arriving. I suppose we should go let ourselves be known that we are indeed here. I hope that idiot Kanda plays sick or something so I do not have to deal with him." Sighing, he ruffled his own hair in an attempt to straighten the unruly locks, then proceeded to go towards the door. Lenalee watched as his hand hesitated to grab the doorknob.

"Allen?"

The hand fell back to his side as he turned towards her. His eyes stared intently at the ground as his lower lip quivered. "Ah, Lenalee," he started, looking up, though his courage escaped him and left him looking back at the suddenly-interesting, small cracks in the wooden floor. A swell of red formed in his cheeks, the kind she expected to see after he either embarrassed himself in class (in front of Kanda, especially) or engaging in exercise. His gloved hand itched his cheek as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Um. Since we're alone . . . There was something, ah, that I, uh, wanted t-to ask you."

Adrenaline started to surge through her veins. His eyes shined the nervousness they held as they desperately sought to look upon her. She knew his intent. After four years of going to school, it almost dumbfounded her she didn't realize sooner. That she didn't even _notice_ the possibility of him having the slightest attraction to her. His gaze flicked back and forth between her and the floor, though he stared at her face longer than he did the floor now. "Lenalee," he said in a little squeak, making him cough and recompose himself. "Lenalee, I was, ah, wondering . . . Did you ever happen to . . . I-I mean, do you think that, even though we're going to different colleges, that, uh . . ."

"Master Walker?"

He yelped. Lenalee almost gasped as a maid appeared from behind the door and bowed her head. "My apologies for the intrusion, sir," she said, "but the plethora of guests await your presence in the main hall below."

Allen gave the maid a weak smile. "Thank you. Inform them I shall arrive shortly."

She curtsied once before disappearing behind the bedroom door, which gave a soft "click" after her. He clutched at his own chest, inhaling sharply. "She almost gave me a bloody heart attack!" he breathed, letting his English accent slip. He grinned sheepishly at Lenalee. "We shouldn't keep the others waiting any longer. They'll wonder if I set them up. Or something."

"Yeah," she said lamely. She wondered if she looked as flustered as he did, with the sanguine cheeks and the nervous eyes casting glances everywhere except on her friend.

"Then, shall we?" He offered his hand, smiling. She hesitated for a moment before taking it, allowing him to lead her away from the master bedroom and down the numerous halls. Twilight cast shadows of trees through the windows and against the walls. The sky, speckled with pink and purple, pushed the sun further down as it tried to pull the waxing moon up. Stars glittered and twinkled. Allen paused as Lenalee stopped walking, watching the stars gleam.

_. . . The air here smells wonderful. Crickets are chirping, and the stars, they seem so far away. It's as if some famous painter wound up here and set up the largest canvas in the world, then splashed hues of blue, violet, and red to make some kind of sky. I think I spotted a firefly, too. Red sky at night, sailor's delight. I hope the same holds true for a hobo._

"Lenalee?"

She blinked away from the window and smiled at him. "Yes, sorry. Just thinking."

The noise downstairs grew louder as they approached the main hall. Shouts arose when they spotted Allen, who smiled at them with cheer. He released her hand, giving her a small smile, before disappearing into the crowd. Her hand fell back at her side, still warm from his touch. People laughed and chided away about the big celebration tomorrow, the pinnacle of their high school career. It truly was a party.

She wondered if Lavi ever went to a party.

"Che. The damned bean sprout said you'd be here, and here you are. Good to know this thing wasn't a _complete_ waste of my time."

"Oh!" She turned and smiled. Standing with the constant frown he always wore, her friend, Kanda, handed her a glass. "Kanda, I didn't think you'd show up!"

"It's lemonade." He glanced around the crowd. "I didn't think I would either, but it was either this or deal with my foster parent's blathering about how proud he is of me. I can just fucking melt in with the rest of the crowd here—at home, I can't. Che." His eyes narrowed upon seeing the snow-white hair he detested. "Not only is that bean sprout fucking short, he has to be goddamn rich, too. I really want to pound in that damn smile of his."

She sighed. "Does your attitude of him ever change?"

"I don't like him. Never have, never will." He folded his arms across his chest, almost sneering. "He has that damn vibe I don't like, like he's hiding something, that son of a bitch. I just _know_ he's hiding something from all of us. He's just too damn good. Maybe he's a drug dealer." He snorted before nodding to Lenalee. "I'm going to find his stash and reveal how much of a prick he truly is. Enjoy this dumb-ass party."

With a whip of his ponytail, Kanda disappeared in the crowd, leaving behind the one glass of lemonade he handed to her. She took a sip before glancing shyly over to Allen. He laughed with some of his friends, a few she recognized (the others, not so much). His head turned slightly, almost in slow-motion, in her direction. His eyes opened just enough to catch her glancing at him, and their stares held still for a moment before he looked away. Heart pounding, she took another frantic sip of her lemonade and made her way towards one of the windows.

She didn't know how she felt. She didn't know _what_ to feel. The thought of knowing her best friend having some form of crush on her bothered, if not disturbed, her. It wasn't that she didn't like him (she thought of him as cute since she first met him), but that she didn't know what to do with it. College loomed in the background, smothering any idea of having any form of relationship at the moment. It dictated her mindset—scholarships, classes to take, pre-classes to pass, calling colleges and telling them to let go of her spot because she got accepted into her dream school . . . There wasn't enough room in her life. She already gave that time away.

The crowd started moving away from the main room and towards the glass sky way, which led to the dining hall. She lingered behind for a moment, feeling pressured to follow, feeling overwhelmed to do so. Allen approached her with a smile. "Lenalee!" he said. "Let's go. A lot of food is waiting for us, you know." He reached out and took her by the hand, leading her away from the window she stood by. Her grip on the lemonade tightened.

Why did she feel afraid?

The dining hall teemed with people, swarming the tables and helping themselves to large amounts of food. Allen joined them, bringing Lenalee along with him. She recognized Chaoji, a boy who shared the same anatomy class as her, and another, but his name escaped her. Allen walked to them, smiling widely. "Good evening!"

"Hey," Chaoji nodded. His buddy did the same. "Guess what? I got accepted into the state university today, even though my grades kind of sucked."

"_Anyone_ can get in there," Allen joked. Chaoji didn't look enthralled. "I mean, it's a good school, and since we all went to a private academy, they accept us because of our tough curriculum. I myself got accepted into Brown University."

"No kiddin'," Chaoji's friend said. "I tried ta get in their, but they go sayin', 'Thanks, but no thanks' to me. I'm stickin' to my plan with the military, since I ain't as filthy rich as you." His breath reeked of alcohol, as Lenalee noticed, and his cheeks were oddly flushed. "It's the way of the future, ya know, what with the economy goin' ta hell."

Allen looked over to Lenalee, who remained silently observing. "What about you?" he asked. "Did you get accepted? What are you studying, anyways? Did you decide yet?"

"I got accepted into a lot of places," she admitted. "I had to reject a lot because brother was so paranoid that I wouldn't get in if I didn't try hard. So I called nine places a week ago and declined their invitation. I guess you could say I'm, uh, going to go to Harvard." She felt the jealous vibes coming from Chaoji and his friend. "What I'm studying, well . . ."

_A neurologist?_

_A anesthesiologist? _

_A bacteriologist? _

_A . . . ?_

Her mouth fell open, no words coming out. The silence startled her, and her mind went into a panic. The question answered so easily before suddenly became the most difficult problem in her life. Allen stared at her, confused look on his face. Chaoji tilted his head, looking a little worried. His friend took another swig of alcohol as she felt sweat bead up on her brow. She was going to college to be a . . . A what? When did her life suddenly need to be so decided upon? One path, one choice, fixed for the rest of her life. It may break off once or twice, but in the end, it was the same—a doctor of some sort.

"What, Lenalee?" Allen gently prodded. His eyes reflected some form of nervousness. "Are you feeling all right? You look a little pale around the edges."

"I'm fine," she said. "Uh, a, uh, I want to become a . . . a . . ." Her teeth clattered together in the sudden chill that gripped her. Her words stuttered over her lips as she looked frantically to Allen, then to Chaoji, then to Allen again, only to feel the world she built up around her collapse.

_A . . ._

_A what?_

_What the hell are you, Lenalee Lee?_

~X~

Ending chapter fairly quickly ended quickly and fairly quick. Hah! So, did you like it? Hate it? Love it? Destroy it? Hit me with a review, por favor! In other news, I am starting NaNoWriMo. It's intense—let's see if I can make it through these thirty days! See you in three! ~Mr. Ree


	3. That Girl, Broken

Okay, on behalf of the Lavi fans, I am starting a petition to bring that little bastard back into the manga. Hell, I don't even like him that much (except with Lenalee), but I kind of miss his ugly mug. Anyhow, welcome to chapter three! Thanks to those who reviewed! It motivates me to do this thing called "writing"! And now, without further ado . . . !

~X~

3. That Girl, Broken

The party.

Graduation.

The party _after_ graduation.

Goodbyes.

And, as she sat in her desk chair, rapping her fingers against the keyboard, her mind continued to churn out many questions. Her computer displayed the pre-med class she so wanted to take (to ensure that she could get ahead, of course) before, yet she lacked the motivation to press on. Senioritis kicking in, she often told herself. Perhaps even I can't escape its grasp. She, however, knew better. Since Allen asked her that dreadful question of what she wanted to do, her vision snapped in two. But she chose to ignore that truth and camped in denial, where senioritis worked its magic.

She kept herself in her room most of the time. Komui often knocked on her door, asking if she were hungry, if she wanted to go to a movie with him, if she wanted to do _anything_ (and that question had such desperation to make her come out, she almost cried where she sat). She always told him "no." If she were to work through this period, immersing herself in her studies, she might be able to find what she had lost.

If she had lost anything at all.

Wind rattled against the windows as the preludes of a thunderstorm covered the sky. The clouds churned as thunder rumbled, almost shaking the house with its ferocity. She glanced out the window, noticing the trees whipping their branches, flailing as if on fire. She saved her poorly-written essays describing the effects of certain medicines, deleted the three other rough drafts of said-essay, and turned off her computer. Nobody had tried to bring her out of her room yet; Komui had work at the lab, and she turned off her cell phone.

She felt bad for Allen. After her panic, she excused herself from the party entirely. Even Kanda, who was still snooping around the house in suspicion, asked her, "What the hell is wrong with you?". She evaded his question by calling Chaoji over to talk to him. But Allen wasn't so willing to give up on her, and he followed her outside.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She only shook her head and disappeared behind his mansion's gates, leaving him to stand alone under the darkened sky. Since then, she avoided him. During graduation, she didn't look at him. After graduation, he tried to come over to her house more than once. Komui would knock on her door and say, "Allen's here to visit you," in which she'd reply, "I'm not well enough to have visitors." And he would sigh, almost as if defeated, and would send Allen away. The numerous amount of text messages and phone calls disrupted her every time her cell phone vibrated, so she turned it off entirely.

She wanted the whole world to shut up and disappear.

And she knew that wasn't like her at all. She vowed, then, until she felt better, she would stray away from social events. Ruining anything further would probably kill her. Her world consisted of working at the convenience store at odd hours (so no one could come pester her about how she felt) and of home. She didn't get groceries anymore. Her little trips to get snacks from the bagel shop ceased completely. She blinked upon the realization that she hadn't tasted the little shop's onion bagels in over a month. Or walked through the park over the stream.

When was the last time she took a shower? The last time she ate? She forced herself to stand up, cracking her knuckles as she stretched. Lightning cracked, making her jump a little. A small, irresistible craving started working into her mind. A bagel. She could go out for one of those, couldn't she? Just make a little small talk with the person behind the desk, then go straight home. In a thunderstorm, though? Was her rationality becoming compromised as well?

Grimacing, she put on a coat. It's fine, she told herself. Just a bagel. That's all. She picked up her bag, opened it to make sure she had enough money, and stuffed in an old notebook.

Lavi's notebook.

She zipped up the bag, pulled the hood over her head, and left the house. Rain pelted against the ground, puddles quickly forming in little crevasses in the sidewalk. Trees creaked and groaned, threatening to snap in half at any moment. She pressed on.

Downtown had little people. The storm chased them off into buildings. The wind nearly knocked her over into the street once or twice. She decided to go through the park, despite the many trees that could have been a threat. Another bolt of lightning made her jump and pick up her pace faster. Her coat felt drenched, her shirt felt drenched, and even the jeans (she was wearing jeans? The thought alone startled her) were soaked. Her skin shivered as she ducked her head to prevent the rain from attacking her eyes.

And she tripped. She fell on her forearms, already feeling the bruises forming. She landed on a puddle, too, making her clothes more wet than before. Hastily, she sat up, checking her bag's contents. Her money was safe, as was her reading material. She sighed in relief before looking up, seeing spots of red draping over a bench. A coat covered his body as his head lolled in her direction. His eye blink confused, almost tiredly, for a moment, before he sat up with a jolt.

"Oh!" He looked from her to something behind her. She followed his eye to see his bike lying on the ground, wheel spinning lazily. "Oh, damn, I knew I should've moved that thing closer to me. Hey, are you okay? You look drenched. And, uh, do I know you?"

"Lavi?" She stood up when he did. His hair, drenched from rain, dripped little drops of water. He looked colder and wetter than she could even imagine.

He appeared startled hearing his own name. Eye narrowing, he leaned closer, scrutinizing her facial features before his eye sparkled upon recognition. "Lenalee!" he said, grinning. "I haven't seen you in ages, and I barely recognized you. Actually, you look kind of sick. Why are you outside when it's literally _down-pouring_ out? You'd have to be crazy to do that. You could get sicker or something else, you know?"

"Then why are you—oh." Homeless. Lavi, the wandering (though he seemed to be done with the wandering bit) homeless person, probably didn't have anywhere to go. "Do I look sick? I don't really feel all that sick, just tired."

"Hm." He picked up his bike and leaned it against the bench. "Still, you should go inside somewhere, because this storm is gonna last a while. Maybe an hour more or so."

"What about you?"

"What? Oh, don't worry about me." His grin widened. "I'm used to this. I've seen even worse than this, too. Did you get to the part where I was in Florida in book four? That was kind of poorly planned on my part—hurricanes aren't forces to be messed with." His laugh died when Lenalee looked away. "Hey, what's wrong? You're acting all weird."

"It's fine. I'm fine. Do you want to come home with me?"

"What?"

She did a double-take. _What_ did she just say? It wasn't like her to randomly ask questions in the middle of her thoughts. Maybe something was more wrong with her than she thought. "It's cold," she said lamely, "and, uh, I don't know. Rain. Yeah. It's raining, and, as you said, anyone would be crazy to stay outside, so I figured, since I know you're homeless, that, well, you'd want to maybe come to my house and eat something?"

Komui would flip at the mention of any other boy but Allen coming over to the house. One look at Lavi, and he would go berserk, because not only was Lavi a boy, but a homeless boy. A punk of some sort, something that could ruin her brother's "precious sister." Lavi tilted his head, almost not comprehending her offer. "Uh, Lenalee," he said, rubbing the back of his head, "are you sure you're okay? You just completely broke into a different subject altogether. You seemed composed last time I saw you . . ."

"I assure you, I'm fine." She didn't feel assured herself. Lavi gave her a disbelieving look.

"You don't look fine," he finally said. When she didn't reply, he continued, "It may just be me. And the rain, too. You really should go inside—and, please, don't worry about me."

He was hiding something. It flickered in that lone eye he had, sputtering like a struggling flame (yearning, maybe?), but it doused out quickly, as if the rain managed to crawl into his eye. "Lavi," she said uneasily, "this doesn't have to do with those people you keep mentioning in these books, does it?" When he looked away, she frowned. "It does. Are they here?" He shuffled uncomfortably. "What are you not telling me, Lavi? What are you not telling _yourself?_"

"I—"

"'I ran into one today,'" she started to read. "'Today, while trying to relax within this town's library. He approached without warning, and whispered in my ear as I turned the page of the book, 'You've almost lost, Bookman Junior.' Before I was able to turn my head, he was gone. I thought, at first, it was just my own paranoia. But when I looked back to the book, a checkered card rested on the pages, and, with red paint, it glistened 'Game Over.' Of course I left there as soon as I could, and I think, if I hide for a few days, I'll be fine. But will the rest of the world be?'" She closed the book, dust coming out of the pages as she looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

Lavi laughed darkly. "I should have never given you the last one," he said.

"But you did. And now, here we are. Are you afraid of my safety if you happen to come into my house?" She outstretched her hand in front of him, her muscles not used to pulling into a smile. "That's the last entry of all of the books you gave me. Obviously, you're all right. And they will not suspect you to be in _my_ house, of all places, right?"

"You're just looking for answers," he said quietly.

"No," she said, "just trying to help a friend. _And_ looking for answers."

He looked at her hand for a moment before rising on his own. He led his old bicycle and followed her back to her place, though he remained quiet. She glanced at the driveway. Komui had yet to return; he probably had another all-nighter he needed to pull. She jostled the keys and opened the door while Lavi leaned his bike against the wall of the house. The rain pattered harder against the earth, rapidly creating new puddles and threatening to overflow the old ones.

"Sorry it's a mess," she said. Newspapers covered the kitchen table. Dirty dishes stacked upon one another, untouched. Komui probably didn't have the time to do any housekeeping, and with her locked up in her room all the time, no one did an ounce of housework. Frowning, she began to stack the dishes when she realized her guest had yet to enter. "Uh, Lavi?"

He stood outside the door, despite it being open. She tilted her head as he grinned sheepishly. "Yeah?"

"The door's open. Why're you outside?"

He bit his lower lip. "It is?"

"Uh, yeah. You're not blind, are you?" She stood in his path of vision, and his eye immediately followed her. "No, you're not. So, what are you doing? Do you _want_ to get sick?"

He shook his head. "I can't get sick anyways. I'm an idiot."

"Well, stop standing outside and get in here."

"It's not that easy."

"Why not?"

"You have to invite me in."

She blinked. "_Invite_ you? You're kidding, right? I said you could come in earlier. That sounds like something out of a mythology book, where vampires can only step into your house if you say they can." She paused. "Are you a vampire? Please tell me you don't sparkle in the sunlight and have a super-secret ability that you must hide from the human race."

"No, nothing like that." He laughed. "But, still, you have to formally invite me inside. Humor me?"

She sighed. "Fine. Lavi, you are allowed into my house."

He stepped inside, looking pleased. "Thank you," he said. He glanced around the room, then picked up one of the old newspapers. "Wow, this is dated at least a month ago. Are you planning on making some paper-maiche or something? 'Cause that's a _lot_ of newspapers."

She started gathering said-newspapers up. "It's good kindle for the wood stove, I suppose. Let me get this cleaned up and I can make us some hot chocolate. Would you like some?"

"I'm good, thanks."

She frowned. "When was the last time you ate?"

"When was the last time _you _ate?" He looked her up and down. "I didn't realize this earlier—well, I did, though not this much—but you look a lot thinner. And not in a good way. Plus, your hair is ragged, and you have dark circles under your eyes. Compared to last time, you honestly look like Hell, Lenalee. Why don't _you_ start making yourself food, and I can clean up the newspapers, okay?" He took the bunch out of her hands and started down one of the hallways.

"It's down the other way, Lavi!"

He stopped and grinned. "I totally knew that. I was just checking to see if you were paying attention."

The rain began to quiet down. Lenalee rummaged in the cupboard beneath the sink, looking for the tea kettle. In the end, she still didn't get the bagel she wanted. The thought of food made her stomach gurgle, but with Lavi out of the room, she didn't feel embarrassed. He was right, though; she didn't feel too well. She filled the tea kettle with water and placed it on top of the oven, then looked through the cabinets to find the instant hot chocolate mix. She came across a can of chicken noodle soup and placed it down onto the counter. One way or another, she was going to make Lavi eat with her.

The tea kettle began whistling. She poured the boiling water into two mugs and placed them onto the now-clean table. The hot chocolate mix swirled as she spun the spoon rapidly. She then dug a pot out of the cupboard and dumped the chicken noodle soup into it. She sneezed. Maybe she was the one coming down with the cold.

After a few minutes, the chicken noodle soup boiled. She poured it into two separate bowls before taking them down into the living room. Lavi sat in the corner on her favorite bean bag chair, watching the wood stove flicker and pop. His hair had a slight tint of orange in the flame's light. She handed him a bowl. "For you," she said, "and eat _all_ of it. I'll get your hot chocolate, hang on."

She put her bowl down beside the wood stove and left for the kitchen before he could object. She hoisted up the two mugs and returned to where Lavi sat. He stared at his soup while toying the noodles with his spoon. She placed a mug beside him before pulling up a chair and sitting near the wood stove. The newspapers he collected sat upon the stack of wood, ready to be burned. She relaxed a little more, satisfied that the house was now a little cleaner. She sipped at her soup.

"Why did you stop writing in your journals?" she asked after the moment of silence. "I mean, you still had at least a fourth of empty pages left. And you left it off at a decent cliffhanger, too."

"I just didn't want to write anymore." He set the soup aside, untouched. "Flipping through those pages, seeing how all I've done is run away . . . I didn't want to see that. So, I gave them to you. You'll note that the last entry is the same day I saw you the first time, when I hit you with my bicycle."

"I did notice that."

His gaze wandered to her, then returned to the fire. "Did you read all of them?" he asked, picking up the mug of hot chocolate. "One through four?"

"Only three and four," she admitted. "Which is probably why I don't know who 'they' are yet. The people who are following you, I mean. And why they are following you." She gave a quick glance to see if his emotion changed—if he suddenly grew worried, or something of the like. He remained calm. She ate another spoonful of her soup. "Do you want to fill in the blanks for me?"

"It's better if I didn't."

"Why?"

He turned his head towards her. His expression revealed nothing, though his tone told her enough. "I don't want you to get mixed up with them. They are not the kind of people you want to hang out with, talk to, or anything." He motioned to the fire. "One wrong move with them, and _you _can become the firewood. Catch my drift?"

She nodded. "I guess. But why do they want you dead? What did you do?"

"I knew too much." He relaxed further in the bean bag chair. "I was only supposed to help them with information—who had the most money, who had the drugs to sell, who had talent for killing, who could join their movement and _not_ be a spy . . . That was my job. I did it with complete neutrality, because that's what I'm supposed to do. But my curiosity led me to figuring something out. Something bad." His leg started twitching. "Despite my neutrality, I destroyed all of the files relating to the plan, just to set them back a little. And, through my fingerprints, they were able to determine that I had hacked into their master computer and completely sabotaged their system."

She stared at him, gripping the bottom of her bowl so it wouldn't fall out of her lap in shock. "Just what are they planning to do?"

"Something else you shouldn't concern yourself with." He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a small device, something that looked like a flash drive. "It's in here. Their whole plan. I was planning on taking it to the government, but every time I tried to get to Washington, they always cut me off and forced me back east. I've been traveling alone since I was sixteen, Lenalee. Three years worth of going from state to state, all to end up here, in the middle of nowhere. And now, I'm unable to go further."

"How come?" When he gave her a look, she sighed. "Something else I can't know?"

"You're learning fast." He grinned, but it quickly faded. "But forget that for now. What's been going on with you?"

She looked down at her soup, which was almost gone. She had no problem inquiring what was wrong with him, but now that it was her turn, she felt herself clam up. "I . . . I don't know," she said lamely. "I really don't. Lately, I have no idea what I'm doing anymore. I know I should be going to college in August to study for my medical degree. I know I should be wanting that, because not everybody is as smart as I am, regarding that field. But it's just too sudden. I don't want . . ." She looked away completely. Tears brimmed her eyes. She couldn't cry, not now. "I don't want to disappoint him. My brother. He worked so hard for me, he helped me through high school, and now I don't even want to face him. I'm such a coward."

Her shoulders wracked a little. Her self-control started to slip. Grimacing, she forced herself to smile, despite that no one saw her face. "I'm such a coward," she repeated. "And selfish. I shouldn't want to destroy what I worked for."

"Do you want to become a doctor?"

She blinked. "What?"

"I said, do you want to become a doctor?" He opened the wood stove and placed more newspapers in the fire. They caught flame spontaneously. "Do you really want to do that? Or is there something else you want to do? Nobody else matters in what _you_ want to do. Not even your brother." He paused. "Why do you want to become a doctor?"

"I don't know. It's all too confusing. I feel like I should want to become something."

"Says who?"

"Says school. Says life. Says—"

"Says you?" He looked at her curiously. "Lenalee, not everyone figures out what they want to do with their life in just eighteen years, you know. Some people take longer. Not all people need to go to college, either. In fact, not everyone needs to go to high school." He jabbed his thumb at himself. "I mean, look at me. I dropped out of school when I turned fourteen, and disappeared off the face of the planet. I have no real name, no real family, no nothing—yet I bet you ten bucks that I have lived more than any of those people who say you _need_ to go to college."

She frowned. "Not everyone can become a wandering hobo, Lavi."

"I wasn't saying to. I'm just saying that it's all up to _you_." He grinned. "No one else can tell you otherwise."

"But I want someone to show me what I _should _do," she whispered. "I have no idea anymore."

"Then listen to yourself. What makes you happy?"

She looked at him for a moment. "Your journals," she said. "I like the idea of traveling across the country. I've lived here my whole life, and the only other place I've been is New York to visit a college I was interested in attending. But I can't just up and leave—"

"Then it's settled!" He grinned widely. "You're going to go across the country on a bicycle. Forget college, forget what you're 'supposed' to do. If you really want, Lenalee, then I'll help you get you out of here. Out of this state. Out of this mindset that you are supposed to be conventional. I'll only help, however, if you really want me to."

"You're not serious, are you?"

"What? Of course I am! You only live once, you know." His grin twitched as his eye became clouded over with a secret sadness. "You gotta take opportunities like this by the horns or whatever and go with it. Now, do you want to?" His grin turned smaller. "Or do you not want to?"

She looked to the fire. It sparked and hissed as it tried to burn a wet piece of wood. "I'll make a deal with you," she said, returning her attention on him. He looked puzzled. "I will go across the country, but I need a reason. And that reason," she plucked the flash drive out of his bag, "is to finish what you started."

"What?" His voice squeaked. "What? Are you crazy? Did you not just hear me say to stay the hell out of their way? If they find out you have it, they'll kill you, and they won't give a damn that you're a girl!" When she clenched tighter around the flash drive, he glared. "Lenalee, think about it. You really don't want to die for something as small as that."

"You told me to think about what I wanted to do. And this is what I want to do."

"No way in hell am I letting you leave with that."

"Then why won't you finish it?" She smiled slyly. "Why are you stuck here, Lavi? Want to tell me?"

His mouth opened, then closed with a grimace. He looked to the floor, teeth bared as he muttered curses under his breath. "I shouldn't have ever given you my journals," he muttered. "What the hell was I thinking?" Sighing, he regained his composure, though he looked defeated regardless. "Are you absolutely certain? Because the first two journals were much worse than those of the third and last one. They will find you out, and they will hound you down."

"And I could get struck by a car tomorrow if I decided to go for a walk. No matter what, I'm always risking my life. Just differently."

"Lenalee—"

"You can't stop me. If you won't give me your bike, I'll get a different one." When his face furrowed into a look of worry, gave a reassuring smile. "I made up my mind. Let me help you, Lavi."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

He sighed. "I can't win against you, then. Fine. Tomorrow morning, meet me at the park, and I'll see you off from there." He hefted up his bag and hoisted it over his shoulder. "Just . . . be careful, okay?"

With that, he left the living room, the wood stove, and her. She stared after him for a moment, hearing the front door close, then sighed at her own stupidity. What was she thinking? She had no idea what she was getting herself into, how much danger she could be putting herself in. But she couldn't back down now. No, the prospect of having a challenge excited her. She stood up and took her dishes into the kitchen before picking up Lavi's.

His soup, along with his hot chocolate, remained untouched.

~X~

All right! Chapter three, done! So! Did you like it? Hate it? Love it? Destroy it? Hit me with a review, por favor! I was actually really unsure of this chapter (my editor is on break due to studying woes), but I posted it anyhow. I'm starting to regret that . . . oh well. I hope to see you in four! ~Mr. Ree


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